Wings
by icepixel
Summary: 1,000 words of Fraser/Thatcher friendship/bonding/UST/fluff. A piano is involved. I apologize in advance for any egregious musical knowledge-related errors.


She could hear music. Meg Thatcher, sitting at her desk in the Canadian Consulate, cocked her head in the direction of the sound. It was coming from downstairs, probably from--ah, yes, there was an upright piano in the ballroom. That must be it. But it was almost eight o'clock at night. Who would be in there playing at this hour? And playing so *well*?

Paperwork abandoned, she tiptoed down the stairs and crept down the hall to the ballroom. *Of course,* she thought when she saw the figure seated at the piano. As she had half-suspected, there was Fraser, engrossed in the Beethoven sonata that he was coaxing from the keys. When she'd agreed to let him live at the consulate after fire had taken his apartment, she'd told him to use the kitchen and other living areas of the ground floor as he wished after business hours, so long as he kept them tidy. She hadn't thought his nocturnal activities included playing the piano, though.

He finished the piece, and as he relaxed his posture he must have seen her out of the corner of his eye, for he was immediately on his feet. "Inspector! I was just--"

"That was very good, Constable," she interrupted, hoping to forestall his nascent apology. "I didn't know you played."

He glanced down at his boots, almost bashful at the praise. "When we lived in Tuktoyuktak, there was an old piano in the community hall. My grandmother gave me lessons on it."

"I see." Meg took a few steps forward, and soon stood very close to her junior officer. She reached out and fingered two of the piano keys, the high notes plinking under pressure from her fingers. "She must have been an excellent musician herself." Unconsciously, her thumb and first two fingers sought out the C, E, and G to make the C-major triad.

"She was," Fraser said softly, fondly. "And you, sir? Do you play?"

She'd moved each of her fingers up a key to sound the D-minor chord. "I had five years of lessons when I was a child, but it never stuck. I ended up dropping them to concentrate on school."

Fraser moved back from the bench. "I'm sure you remember something."

"I..." she paused, then said, "Oh, why not?" She was feeling oddly agreeable tonight. Perhaps this was just the break she needed before diving back into her 1189D reports.

She sat at the piano, moving the bench forward to accommodate her smaller frame. Flexing her fingers over the keys, she suddenly wondered what she could play. The pause lingered into territory that was almost uncomfortable before muscle memory took over, and she began to play a song that had seemed to feature in every one of her recitals.

Her fingers moved fluidly across the keyboard, hitting the notes carefully, if at a slower tempo than the composition demanded.

Everything went well for several measures, until, poof, she suddenly had no idea what came next. With slumping shoulders, she dropped her left hand to her lap, her right hand continuing something like the melody, although it sounded tinny and weak now without the bass harmony.

And then suddenly it was there again, confident counterpoint to the high notes her fingers were picking out. She stared, astonished, at Fraser, who didn't notice, concentrating as he was on matching her erratic tempo.

They finished the piece like that, two bodies playing as one. When the last note sounded from the strings, Fraser grinned at her. "I never thought of you as a fan of 'The Mexican Hat Dance.'"

She almost laughed. "I hate that song," she said, shaking her head, "but my piano teacher loved it, and she made me memorize it."

Still smiling, he sat on the edge of the bench. She moved over to make room for him, although these things *really* weren't made for two people. Their hips and shoulders brushed as he settled onto the bench. "What about this one, then?" he asked as he began to play.

By the twelfth note, she recognized it. "'Der Vogel im Himmel,'" she said. "It's one of my favorites."

He looked pleased at his guess. The notes coming from the piano crescendo under his fingers, and on the downbeat, he began to sing. Meg remembered his clear baritone from the train, when he'd led the Mounties from the Musical Ride in song. It was just as pleasant now.

Suddenly, she also remembered that this song was a duet, and the entrance for the high voice was moments away. Hoping she could recall all of the German, she sang out the first note. It was a little flat, but she quickly corrected her pitch. As she gained confidence, their lines wove with and around each other, intertwining seamlessly.

It was not a particularly difficult composition, but the harmonies struck by the two voices and piano were exquisite and unexpected, and she'd loved it for many years. The song, as the title indicated, was about a bird flying through the sky. The female voice was the bird, soaring on the wind; the male the sky that held her; and the piano played the part of the ground underneath both of them.

Singing this with other men, she had just sung. With Fraser, she flew.

* * *

Ray Kowalski couldn't suppress the wide grin that arched over his face at the sight of Fraser and Inspector Thatcher sitting at the piano, singing lieder in harmony. Never had he wished harder to have a video camera. The blackmailing he could do on both of them...it would last *years*.

They hadn't noticed him yet. They were too caught up in the music--and each other --to notice much of anything. So much for those vaunted Mountie observational skills. Silently, Ray slipped back into the shadowy hallway and headed for the front door. The new developments to the Schubert case, few as they were, could wait until morning.

Behind him, the ballroom resounded with music and laughter.

**N.B**. As far as I know, there is no song called "Der Vogel im Himmel."


End file.
